


Cold-Blooded

by FreeShavocadoo



Category: Bleach
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Dysfunctional Relationship, Enemies/Lovers, Introspection, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Oops, Weird Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:59:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15972803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeShavocadoo/pseuds/FreeShavocadoo
Summary: They've been playing this game for a while and if Gin Ichimaru isn't careful, he may end up losing.





	Cold-Blooded

**_“I’m a snake. Cold of flesh and devoid of heart. My tongue flicks back and forth, ever in search of new prey, and if I like what I find, I swallow ‘em whole.”_ **

For eyes that seemingly remain closed, Gin was resolved to see much more than the average pair, disguised behind scathing remarks and a presence severe enough to make lesser men bow. Blood had covered his hands for as long as he can remember, as familiar as the ache of hunger had been when he’d traipsed for miles in the Rukongai in search for food and hope. He’d found the former and avoided the latter, finding hope in all forms to be rather fruitless for men who were out to seek revenge. The semantics didn’t matter, he’d decided his fate long before anybody else had even had the chance to alter his path, resolute that the suffering he’d endure would be for a greater purpose. That seemed to be something they had in common.

“Thinking? That’s dangerous for you.” Aizen’s voice cuts through the silence, his voice smooth and unwavering as usual. He always exerts a certain level of control even over the minute details.

“So perceptive, Aizen-taicho, aren’t ya?” Gin remains seated, fiddling with the material of his new robes, all white. Like everything in Hueco Mundo, only succeeding in making him view the place as more of an eyesore. White was a deceitful colour after all.

“It’s more the notion of you being deep in thought concerning me, is all,” Aizen seats himself quickly and gracefully, arranging his hands neatly in his lap, “it usually culminates in something problematic.”

Gin hums under his breath, surveying the cold marble pillars in the room and the white walls, the constant stream of moonlight bouncing off them. Perhaps it was being in Las Noches where the night reigned supreme that had his mind running so melancholy, yet, he finds himself snared in the familiar grip of Aizen’s reiatsu, all encompassing. A familiar feeling that isn’t quite welcome but not quite unwanted.

“Kinda’ ironic for ya to be callin’ me problematic, Sousuke.” Gin stretches out, a graceless show of limbs and pale skin, always lanky and spindly. Aizen’s eyes track his movements, as calculated a stare as ever, though his mouth curves upwards at Gin’s words.

“In what way am I problematic, exactly, Gin?”

It was always like this, the back and forth. Barbed words and veiled insults and insinuations. There was a reason Aizen had skewered his lieutenant when he’d had the chance. Comparatively, she was nothing in Aizen’s eyes after Gin’s devotion. The day Gin had become captain of the 3rd division was one of the few times Aizen’s homely façade had broken off in private, angered at the loss of his closest follower for reasons Gin doesn’t doubt he would never be able to explain.

 

* * *

 

 

 

_The wall seems to dig into his back by this point, the angle uncomfortable and taxing to upkeep yet he does so anyway. He’s a sore loser. Aizen’s weight is pressed almost entirely against the front of his chest, solid and unwavering much like the man himself. The brown eyes usually obscured by glasses and false pretences burn holes into his head, as though he’s not looking but he’s actually **seeing** Gin and it makes him both scared and exhilarated at the same time. Ever the snake, Gin’s wrist escapes from Aizen’s grip that was pinning it down, snaking into the hair on the back of Aizen’s neck with dexterity. Gin’s other hand clasps near Aizen’s throat, long fingers practically enclosing the entirety of Aizen’s neck from the front. A reminder, Gin thinks. This is a dangerous game. Fingers tracing Aizen’s pulse could easily tighten and choke the life right out of him, yet Gin’s fingers still, just a moment before the grip becomes painful. Aizen’s gaze is unwavering, as though challenging the notion._

_Aizen’s hands now rest firmly either side of Gin’s head and he seems to use the leverage of the position to lunge forward, a seething kiss that seems to summarise his feelings better than any baseless words would, giving Gin little leeway as he bites his lip and snakes his tongue into his mouth. Aizen always was a sweet talker, after all. Like time has frozen, both surrender completely to the moment, the pleasure, as though they aren’t always teetering on the edge of mutual self-destruction._

_“Carry on, Sousuke, an’ I might start thinkin’ dangerous things.” Gin pants into Aizen’s neck, his fingers still tangled in deep brown hair that was immaculate moments earlier, now tousled in a way that makes Gin’s mouth dry._

_“I find this assumption amusing,” Aizen grabs onto Gin’s silver hair, soft and malleable to his touch, yanking his head back by gripping it, “the assumption that you’re not always thinking dangerous things.”_

_“Ya got me there, Aizen-taicho.” He leans back into the touch as Aizen’s teeth graze over his neck, a familiar route, always culminating with a fevered kiss on near his pulse point and a bite on his collarbone. It was a game they played often, after all._

_“I do have you. Right where I want you.” Aizen growls, yanking off Gin’s captain’s robe as if it offends him, as though the absence of the lieutenant badge on his arm angers him. Gin finds this notion funny, the notion that Aizen doesn’t see Gin as already being marked by him even absent an affiliation with Aizen’s division. As though Aizen’s teeth haven’t left marks all over Gin’s body, hidden by his robes away from stares that inevitably wouldn’t last long._

_It’s not as if Aizen wasn’t marked either. They both liked to mark each other, less for possession and more of a question. How much more can you take? It was a question Gin asked Aizen frequently, when his fingers would bruise Aizen’s hips so tremendously it was a wonder he was mobile the next day. Aizen’s wrists usually suffered a similar fate under Gin’s weight, though Aizen never crumbles under it and retains the same piercing stare he usually does. Even at his peak, when he’s completely undone, beyond speaking or coherency, he breathes deeply and just **stares** at Gin, as though Gin hasn’t taken anything but has instead been given it only because Aizen allows it. As though he hadn’t begged for it._

_Then again, neither of them would admit to the things they said when wrapped in the choke-hold of passion, paranoia and uncertainty. That was the game, after all._

 

* * *

 

“In what way are ya problematic? I dunno. Seems more like a question for Tousen, if ya ask me,” Gin smiles wider, which is surprisingly possible, “more of an existential question.”

“Ever the comedian.” Aizen crosses one leg over the other, blinking slowly and regarding Gin with curiosity, something that never usually ends well for either of them.

Gin mentally prepares himself for the inevitability of chaos, it usually enveloped them when they were in this kind of mood. “There a reason ya starin’ at me like that, _Sousuke_?”

It’s like a trigger, the shift from honorifics to none, from formal to informal. It’s almost like a reminder to Aizen to try to exert control, something so vital and pivotal in his life, especially now. People like Tousen were born followers, not leaders. The espada were followers of circumstance, knowing their power was a fraction of Aizen’s, following a man based on their self-preservation instincts rather than floral-worded motivations. Gin knew it always irked Aizen, crept under his skin like a virus, the question as to why Gin had followed him so closely for so long. He’d mock him for it, if he only knew himself.

The boy who witnessed the Hogyoku for the first time in Aizen’s fingers, at a time when he barely made sense of the world of Shinigami, he knew this man was a threat to their existence. Now it’s merely amplified to being a threat to Gin’s own existence, yet still he dances on the precipice, Aizen close by, as though the prospect of being swallowed into the unknown was something to be excelled towards and not avoided. Perhaps they were more similar than they cared to admit.

“You shouldn’t play games you have no hope of winning, Gin. You’re a sore loser.” Aizen stands, all lean muscle and sloping elegance and Gin takes a second to appreciate the man for the superficial, the clean cut edges of his jaw and the way his eyes are heavy-lidded, as though he’s always thinking of things he could never say out loud.

“When have I ever _lost_ to ya, _Sousuke_?”

Before Aizen has a chance to whip up an inevitably snarky response, Gin moves faster than his Shinso, slamming Aizen down onto the floor in the blink of an eye. Aizen lets out a sharp exhale as his back hits the floor and Gin is satisfied with the brief shock in his eyes, knowing entirely he could’ve manoeuvred them to the bed but where would the fun in that be?

“I asked ya a question, Sousuke.” Gin opens his eyes, a brilliant blue, inquisitive and domineering. Aizen stares, his face going back to its usual impassive expression, though he licks his bottom lip as though he’s concentrating.

“You lose all the time, Gin.” Aizen moves his hand up to cup Gin’s cheek, an oddly intimate gesture that would’ve had Gin reeling a few decades ago but not now. That’d be too easy. “What’s brought this on tonight?”

“Are ya aware it’s always night here?” Gin’s fingers dance over Aizen’s jawline, down his neck. “I don’t like false accusations.”

“There’s nothing false about my accusation,” his fingers grip onto Gin’s fingers, linking them together before rolling Gin onto his back with a show of complete brute force, seated comfortably straddling Gin’s waist, “you could’ve been under Kyoka Suigetsu’s influence this entire time.”

“Well then in that case, why are ya controllin’ all my senses to make me do this to ya every night? Seems you’re the one who’s losin’ here.”

Aizen laughs, a beautiful but menacing laugh, his head tipped backwards. Gin takes the opportunity to sit upright, unperturbed by the man still straddling his lap, lacing his arms around Aizen’s waist and biting his neck, hard. Aizen’s fingers slide into silver hair once more, allowing Gin to nose his chin upright to expose his jaw in the ultimate show of submission, even if Aizen would deny it. The noises in the air and the grip of his other hand in Gin’s robes say otherwise and they both know it.

It doesn’t take them long to fall back into the old patterns.

 

* * *

 

 

_“You understand what we’re doing right now?” Aizen’s tone has a finality to it, though it is usually overlooked by the slight condescending nature of his obvious questions. Unlike Tousen who balks at the asking of his own opinion, Gin has never had reservations about giving his._

_“Ya would hope so, wouldn’t ya, Sousuke?” He teases, eyes crinkling even further, smile widening, “It’s not as if we’re jus’ takin’ a stroll in the park.”_

_“Quite right, Gin.” Aizen’s dowdy appearance betrays the smirk that slides across his face and even the ridiculous glasses can’t hide the devious twinkle behind his eyes. “You’re going to come with me?”_

_“Always askin’ questions ya know the answer to, Aizen-taicho.” Gin shakes his head in mock disagreement, though there is no mistaking the way the air seems to thicken with the premise of Gin being wherever Aizen wants him to be._

_It’s almost funny, Gin thinks, that they are both so caught up in maintaining their own facades that they become distracted by creating more in each other’s presence. Gin would forever be seen as Aizen’s follower after their plan was set in motion, forever be associated as a right hand, an associate of, a mindless drone. The irony isn’t lost on him, especially every other night when Aizen is demanding fruitlessly to be given what he wants immediately even though he knows Gin will hold back, just because. Just because he can, just because he wants to. Just because they both relish control, so having it over a man who is capable of deceiving everyone’s senses just by letting them see his zanpakutou is the greatest high Gin can ever achieve._

_“Perhaps like most people I just seek verbal validation where it’s not actually needed.” Aizen muses, running his fingers through his hair and displacing the unassuming mop he presented to the Seireitei, leaving Gin with a much more accurate image of the man before him._

_“Didn’t know ya were such a’ average person, Sousuke,” his fingers twirl some of the loose strands of hair that fall across Aizen’s forehead, his sing-song voice only increasing in its teasing tone, “carry on an’ I might start ta think you’re average yerself.”_

_Sometimes the hair on the back of Gin’s neck stands on end and he feels oddly like a specimen being observed under a microscope. This was one of those times. Aizen’s gaze isn’t malicious, nor does it hold ill intent, yet naturally the energy he exudes in private is that of complete unbridled strength and control._

_“Is that what you really think?” He asks, taking his glasses off smoothly and placing them on his desk, looking more like himself by the second. The question isn’t meant to be answered, Gin thinks, but is meant to be taken for what it is. A challenge._

_Gin steps up to the plate, like the loyal counterpart he is. “Aren’t as all knowin’ as ya pretend to be, are ya?”_

_“I know that if you carry on, we’ll both regret it.”_

_He wasn’t wrong._

 

* * *

 

 

The lands of Las Noches were vast but the ache inside Gin was more desolate than the land that never saw sun or day. It was as if he was on the edge all over again, the exhilarating feeling of stepping into the unknown and grasping onto danger. Yet, it wasn’t unknown anymore. Most of it was like clockwork even absent daytime and Gin grew tired of the guessing. It had been easier in his impressionable years to pretend like it was a game he could win, like it was an achievement he could make. He wasn’t so sure what he was achieving or making these days, burdened by the unfamiliar feeling of inadequacy and uncertainty. Was it a game anymore? Was anyone going to win? The balcony has a breeze yet like everything in Hueco Mundo, it seems artificial and false. Gin imagines this is what it must feel like to be under the spell of Kyoka Suigetsu. Seeing but not truly feeling, as though your fingertips are pressed against the clearest of glass, an impeccable image and a soft touch but lacking any hard edges or the suffering that comes with truly feeling.

It’d been so long since he’d felt true fear, true despair. People insist these emotions are ones they are better off without, yet for a sense of equilibrium, Gin feels they are absolutely necessary. It was easy to lose yourself in elation repeatedly, but if you didn’t drop back down to reality you’d never really be sure what elation was to begin with. He often found himself on the verge of an emotion so intense that he wondered if he’d ever return to normal, fingers fisted in Aizen’s hair, mouth uttering things he wasn’t consciously aware of. He knows it’s the same for Aizen too, when his pupils are blown wide and his mouth seems to be curving around words that he can’t quite speak, fingers grasping for purchase anywhere they can find a grip.

The cold steel traces his cheek and before he even turns his head, he recognises the presence of Kyoka Suigetsu. The weight realistically is nothing special but yet, the air always feels harder to swallow and the steel always feels like it’s biting even when it remains stationary. His hand reaches up to gently grasp the blade, not hard enough to cut but enough to move it to his side as he turns around.

“Rude to introduce yourself like this, ain’t it, Sousuke?” Gin’s voice is lacking the usual intonation, the song like quality. For once the situation doesn’t seem to call for it.

“You don’t seem to mind.” The grip Aizen has on his zanpakutou is rather lax and he makes no movement to push Gin’s grip from it. As if he knows why Gin is doing it, why Gin has never seen his zanpakutou release.

A man who wasn’t as perceptive as Aizen wouldn’t have noted it, the same way a man that wasn’t as cunning as Gin wouldn’t have picked up on it in the first place. Kyoka Suigetsu’s weaknesses. Those who cannot see it, cannot be affected by it. Those who keep contact with the blade before its release are also unaffected. Gin probably stood one of the few people unaffected by Kyoka Suigetsu’s ability for that very reason, for words uttered over a hundred years ago.

“Aren’t ya supposed to be rulin’ over ya kingdom, _Aizen-sama_?” Gin’s words elicit a mere eyebrow raise from Aizen, the slightest of smirks. “I’m sure ya loyal subjects are dyin’ ta see ya.”

“Jealous?” He asks, a simple question but a loaded one. As per usual, they say one thing and mean another. Cat and mouse.

“Is that what ya want to hear?” Gin strolls towards the bed, lying down comfortably, stretched out and content. Even if the hair on the back of his neck is still standing on end, as though a vague warning is hanging in the air.

_Don’t let any of this deceive you._

Aizen follows him mere moments after, the way they would usually lie, with Aizen’s back tucked against Gin’s chest. His zanpakutou rests against the wall nearby as though in reminder, Gin eyes it as his arm winds around Aizen’s waist easily. The familiarity, the ease, it was all too easy now. It was going to snap soon.

Gin eyes his own zanpakutou, still nestled conveniently near his hip. Perhaps now would be the time to put an end to it all, the two step they’ve been dancing through. As though they both don’t know it’s not built to last.

 _Don’t let any of this deceive **ya** , _Gin thinks, _because one day, **I’ll swallow ya whole.** _

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so they have a weird dynamic anyway and I guess I just wanted to capture a bit of that in this fic.  
> Always appreciate comments/feedback!


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